


I buckle my collar a little too tight

by gamerfic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Team as Family, background Dalish/Skinner, descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: Five times the Iron Bull invited people into his life. One time someone else invited him in.





	I buckle my collar a little too tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/gifts).

"I've been thinking, Grim," the Iron Bull says as they sit around the campfire one evening, "maybe it's time for us to strike out on our own."

"Hmm?" says Grim, raising his eyebrows. Bull has always liked him, so he's the first person Bull has approached about his new idea. Because Grim doesn't say much, a lot of people think he's indifferent or not paying attention or just not very smart. They couldn't be more wrong. When Grim _does_ say something, everyone with sense had better damn well listen.

"This job today was an exquisite clusterfuck."

Grim shrugs in agreement.

"I mean, some of them are always gonna be, but this one didn't have to be. There's at least three or four decisions Fisher made that were the wrong call, flat out. I tried to warn him, and he wouldn't listen. That's no way to lead. You've got to trust your people enough to hear them out and admit it when you're wrong. Fisher doesn't. And as long as he can't, he's just gonna get more of his crew hurt and killed, like he did today. I'm not gonna be one of them."

"Mmm," says Grim, nodding.

"So here's what I'm thinking. Let's make it you, me, Stitches, Rocky, and anybody else around here who you think knows their own ass from a hole in the ground. The next time Fisher's holed up in his tent plotting our tactics or whatever the fuck he does while he's in there alone for hours, we all grab what we can carry and make for the nearest town. I've got enough coin saved up to resupply us all there, and we can keep above water doing jobs off the chantry board until we've built up our own client base. What do you say?"

Grim's eyes light up. "Yeah," he says, "yeah." Bull knew he wouldn't take much convincing. He's as fed up with Fisher's ineptitude as Bull is, maybe more. The other candidates on his list might need a little more persuasion, but Bull isn't worried. It's all part of his job description. It's right there in his name: _Hissrad._

Fisher's shortcomings are genuine enough, but more than anything they make a good excuse for moving the real plan forward. Bull's learned all he can learn here in more ways than one. Fisher may be content to keep meandering around the same patch of Orlais, doing the same boring jobs for the same pampered lordlings, but the Qun isn't. They expect Bull to send them new, actionable intelligence on a regular basis, and he's not getting enough of it from where he is right now. He needs to put himself in charge of his own company so he can control his own movements, take bigger risks, and learn more important information. The rest of it is just a bonus - though Bull can't say, having had a taste of it now, that he won't enjoy more freedom.

_Freedom. _Just the thought of it is exciting enough to get him looking over his shoulder. If he were back in Par Vollen he'd probably consider handing himself back over to the Ben-Hassrath until they'd cured him of his longing for that word and all its many meanings. But he hasn't been in Par Vollen for a long time now, so he needs to continue his mission, whatever it may cost him. It's risky to his body, mind, and spirit, like any job the Qun would give him. And at least this assignment isn't Seheron. He'd rather be anywhere than there.

* * *

Once they're far enough away from the tavern to have lost anyone who might have bothered to chase them, Bull brings his horse to a stop and dismounts. The kid is slumped over the saddle horn in front of him, looking dazed and faraway. "Hey," says Bull, gently tapping the kid on the leg. "Let's get you down from there and have a look at your arm."

"Okay," the kid groans. He lets Bull help him off the horse, then sits down hard on a nearby rock clutching his forearm.

Bull approaches him as cautiously as he would an injured animal. "You're gonna have to take your hand off it," he says, gesturing at the kid's wounded arm. Wincing, he does as he's told. His armor appears mostly intact despite the blows it absorbed from sword and flail, which is a good sign. Even so, there could be any amount of bad stuff going on underneath. "Sorry, but your vambrace is gonna have to come off, too. You wanna do it yourself, or should I?"

"You do it," the kid says through gritted teeth.

"You want it fast, or slow?"

"Just get it over with."

"A man after my own heart."

In a few swift, decisive motions, Bull pulls off the kid's gauntlet, loosens the straps on the vambrace, and tosses the iron and leather armor beneath it off to one side. The kid only makes a few strangled groans as Bull works - not that there would have been any shame if he'd screamed his head off, either, but Bull can respect the choice not to. The armor is high-quality, obviously liberated from the Tevinter military, and it did its job today. Without it, the kid would be looking at a battlefield amputation at best. As it is, he's walking away with a nasty bruise and a deep cut an inch or two long where the flail drove the edge of a buckle into exposed skin.

"That's gonna need stitches," says Bull, pointing at the laceration. "Fortunately, I have Stitches back at camp." He laughs at his own bad joke in spite of himself and thinks, _Fuck, I'm even more strung out on adrenaline than I thought. Going back to camp sounds really good right now. _"Until then, though, let's get a poultice on this thing and bandage it up so it stops bleeding."

The kid's eyes narrow and he asks warily, "Am I your prisoner?"

"Dunno. Do you wanna be?"

"No! But you seem like you're going out of your way not to kill me, and you said you're taking me to your camp, and I guess I assumed - ow!" The kid flinches as Bull packs the poultice into the deepest part of the cut. "I mean, you're a qunari," he finishes weakly.

Bull pauses with the bandage in his hands. If it wasn't already obvious from the armor and the haircut, the kid's discomfort with him would instantly brand him as a Vint soldier. "I feel like we should start this over again and get to know each other properly," he says. "So, hi. I'm the Iron Bull."

"Wait a minute. You're Tal-Vashoth?"

"Yeah." The lie comes easily, worn down into smoothness from long repetition. "And if the stuff that guy in the pub was yelling is true, you're a lieutenant and a Tevinter deserter."

"So what if I am?"

"Doesn't bother me. Does bother me not knowing your name yet, though."

"Cremisius Aclassi. Krem for short."

"Pleased to meet you, Krem."

Krem doesn't respond. Neither of them talks for a while as Bull wraps the bandage around Krem's arm and neatly tucks the ends in. Bull lets the silence be; he can tell Krem is working through something and he doesn't want to get in the way. When Krem finally does speak, Bull isn't too surprised by what he says. "So what's your angle on this, anyway?"

"What do you mean, my angle?" Bull asks as he hands Krem the pieces of his armor.

"I mean, if you don't want to capture me. You get in the middle of a fight that doesn't have anything to do with you, then whisk me away, treat my injuries, and start talking like you're my new best friend. What's in it for you?"

"Maybe I just don't like watching Vints beat up on people for no good reason." Then, seeing Krem's raised eyebrows: "Sorry. _Tevinters._"

"But your eye…" Krem gestures helplessly at Bull's face. _Oh yeah, _Bull remembers, _I bet I look pretty rough. _Catching that Vint's flail in his face was never going to end well for him. His eye has been swollen shut ever since he took the blow, and he can't see anything out of it apart from an occasional vague flash of light. He's so keyed up he can barely feel the pain. There's not much he can do about it right now anyway, so he's categorizing it under "more stuff to have Stitches check out back at camp" and deciding not to worry about it.

"That's not important right now," Bull tells Krem. "Look. You really wanna know what's in it for me? I run my own mercenary company, okay? I saw you fighting back at the tavern. Not only can you obviously handle a sword, anyone willing to throw down with five guys single-handedly is the kind of person I want in my company."

Krem snorts. "I take it you're hiring fools, then?"

"Maybe. But I'm hiring brave men, too. Sometimes it's tough to tell the difference."

Krem grunts in discomfort as he tightens the buckles on his vambrace. "So you're seriously going to offer me a job? Me? A deserter?"

"Sure, why not? I'm not saying you have to give me an answer right now. Come back to my camp, meet the others, then make up your mind. If you decide it's not for you, walk away."

"I guess it can't hurt to try," says Krem, but Bull can tell he's already made up his mind. He heard enough of what the Tevinter tribune said to know Krem has burned too many bridges to go back. He's Bull's favorite kind of recruit: the kind who will be loyal because he has no other choice but to be. The intelligence he might share about what's going on with Tevinter now won't hurt, either. All in all, it's worth the eye it probably cost him. As he helps Krem back on to the horse, he congratulates himself for a job well done. Starting his own company is already turning out to be the best decision he's ever made.

* * *

Bull can tell by the way the Chargers are clustered around this elf they've just met that his company's numbers are about to swell. They've all been together long enough for him to develop a sixth sense for the sort of people his people like to adopt, and this woman fits the bill precisely. She fought off her assailants like a demon, her twin daggers flashing in the moonlight as she struck down man after man. Hell, he can practically see the stars in Dalish's eyes from the other side of the street. He leans against the alienage wall and tries to act aloof and unimpressed as he looks on from a distance.

"Okay, first off, what should we call you?" Krem asks the woman.

"Skinner," she says. "But I'm confused. Why did you help me? How did you know I was here?"

"We didn't," says Dalish. "We just heard you fighting and thought we'd check it out."

"Thanks." Skinner's staring at Dalish while she talks, and Bull thinks he might detect a few stars in her eyes as well. "I was really in the shit there before you showed up. That ice bolt spell came at the perfect time."

The Chargers all tsk-tsk in unison. "Hmm," rumbles Grim in a cautionary tone.

Skinner raises her eyebrows in confusion. "It wasn't a spell," Dalish says confidently, "seeing as how I'm not a mage. If I was a mage, I'd be in real trouble."

"She's a backup archer," Rocky agrees.

"Got it," says Skinner, sounding perplexed. "Well, whoever you are, I appreciate your help."

"We're the Bull's Chargers," Krem says proudly. "And provided we're on the same page as our boss, you seem like the kind of person we'd like to work with again."

That gets Skinner's full attention. "And what is your work, exactly?"

"We're mercenaries. We'll take a contract with most anyone who's not an entirely evil bastard, so long as we're getting paid."

"I'm not gonna lie to you. More than anything, I wanna kill shems. If you and your people can give me that chance, I'm inclined to take you up on your offer."

"What's a shem?" asks Stitches.

"A human," explains Dalish. Krem looks suddenly uneasy. Bull guesses he can't blame him. Skinner would be his equal in a fight for sure. _But not so uneasy he's gonna tell her she can't join,_ Bull thinks, amused. _He learned how to get over that stuff when he met me._

Bull figures it's probably about time he spoke up. "Don't you all think you're getting a little ahead of yourselves?"

The Chargers all turn toward Bull, looking for all the world like a bunch of kids trying to convince their tamassran to let them keep the mabari pup they found. "What do you mean, boss?" Rocky asks innocently.

"Well, last time I checked, I was still in charge of hiring around here. Unless that's changed?"

"Sorry," says Dalish, looking sheepish as she stares at the ground.

"Don't apologize," says Bull. With a few long strides he crosses the street and holds out his hand to Skinner. She takes it and clasps it in a firm, confident grip. "They're right, I _am _in charge here. But it sounds like my people have already made up their mind about you. If you're good enough for them, you're good enough for me. What do you say? Want to give us a try?"

"Of course," says Skinner with a grin. The Chargers seem pleased about it too, and Bull thinks, _Good. The more they like and trust the people around them, the farther they'll go with me._ Subordinates stay loyal when they feel like they've got a say in how they run things. They may think they're pulling his strings, but in the end, all of their decisions are by his design.

Or that's what he tells himself, anyhow. When was the last time he recruited someone who actually knew about anything the Ben-Hassrath might care about? Is he really picking people based on what they can offer him? Because lately, it seems like he's picking them based on how much he likes them instead. He pushes those thoughts away as they start the walk back to camp with Skinner and her bloody daggers in tow. Asking himself too many questions will only lead to trouble.

* * *

Inquisitor Cadash thinks they invited Bull to join them, but really it was the other way around. As soon as Krem came to him bearing news of the newly formed Inquisition and suggesting the Chargers try to get some jobs there, Bull knew he had to get involved. He's spent too many years knocking around the south of Thedas without sending anything really useful back to the Ben-Hassrath. They're starting to notice, and he's starting to run out of excuses. A win like this would do a lot to get them off his back.

It takes a careful hand, of course. Cadash has to walk away from the meeting thinking it was their idea from the start. Counterintuitively, that means being honest with them about his obligations to the Ben-Hassrath. If they uncover that little tidbit on their own later, they'll be justified in never trusting him again. It's only if he casts himself as somewhat untrustworthy from the start that Cadash will set their expectations appropriately low and he'll be free to learn what he wants to learn and do what he needs to do.

At first, it's dicey work. Cadash asks him about a million questions, and there's a prissy little Vint mage in ridiculous armor who tagged along for the rendezvous and who clearly thinks the whole arrangement is a terrible idea. Bull supposes he can't blame the guy. But the mage doesn't get to make the call, Cadash does - and Cadash hasn't had enough bad experiences with the Qun to be as nervous about it as they probably should be. Before long, the deal is done, and Cadash walks away none the wiser to how they've been played. Bull breathes an inaudible sigh of relief as he falls into line behind them on the way back to the nearest Inquisition camp. For at least a little while longer, he gets to keep his freedom.

_Freedom. _ His preoccupation with the concept is nearly constant now. He doesn't know exactly when he became so drawn to it, or why he feels somewhere between terrified and turned on every time he thinks of it. This must be the same way people feel when they come to his bed for the first time, trembling as they hold the rope and the blindfold out to him, understanding how much they want it but not understanding how the fear and pain and passion and fascination got all bound up until they can't separate one from another. The difference is there's no one benevolent guiding the process as it begins. Once he starts, he's afraid nothing he can say or do can possibly stop it before it reaches its inevitable end. He wishes there was some way he could step right up to the edge of it, to test his own limits but call it all off with no questions asked or coercion given if it ever became too much to handle. His bedroom works that way. The rest of life is rarely so kind.

* * *

"May I buy you a drink?"

Dorian leans across the table in the Herald's Rest. His posture is either self-consciously or unconsciously seductive; with Dorian, you can never quite tell. "Sure," says Bull, knowing he doesn't sound very enthusiastic. He gulps down the dregs of the beer he's been nursing all night to save himself having to get into a whole discussion about it. If Dorian notices Bull's sullen mood, he doesn't say anything, just struts over to the bar with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly how good his own ass looks in leather trousers.

As always, Bull is surrounded by the Chargers, who are having an elaborate mock argument about something he hasn't bothered to follow closely. But tonight, he can't remember having ever felt more alone. He's felt a little lost ever since they got back from the meeting with Gatt, ever since he chose the Chargers over the Ben-Hassrath and the Qun. He probably should be more grateful for them considering what he gave up to save their lives, or at least feel relief at having finally taken the last leap into the chasm he's been edging towards for so many years. Mostly he just feels tired.

A full tankard of ale floats into Bull's field of vision, amber suds sloshing over the rim. He looks around in alarm to see Dorian lazily waving his fingers to maneuver the mug over to him. In his other hand he holds a delicate fluted glass containing Cabot's loose interpretation of some overly complicated Vint cocktail. Such casual use of magic still unsettles him, but he won't make a fuss about it. He grabs the mug out of midair and takes a long swig. It's strong and not too cold, just the way he likes it, and he can tell by the complex bite of the hops that Dorian splashed out for the good stuff. He locks eyes with Dorian and mouths, _Thanks._

Dorian acknowledges with a crisp nod and sits down at the bench across from Bull. "You seemed like you needed one."

Bull shrugs. "I usually do."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Dorian shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Is this about what happened on the Storm Coast?"

"Maybe."

"Well, if it is, I don't wanna talk about it." Bull punctuates his pronouncement with another deep drink of ale.

"Bull…"

"We've both been with the Inquisition long enough for you to know I'm not a 'talk about my feelings' kind of guy. What makes you think I'd change all of a sudden? I'm not a different person just because I'm Tal-Vashoth now." He can feel how hollow the words are as soon as he's finished saying them.

"Then what _do _you want?"

"Depends on who's asking, and why. So why does it matter to you?"

Dorian opens his mouth as if to speak, but pours half his cocktail down his throat instead. Bull can tell he's trying to get at something, but damned if he has a clue what it is. All the same, he's curious in spite of himself. "Take your time," Bull adds.

At the opposite end of the table the Chargers are continuing their loud and pointless argument, punctuated by Rocky's gruff and drunken shouting and Skinner's shrieky laughter. It's all wrong for the conversation as well as his mood. Bull jerks his head toward the door. "Wanna take this outside so you can hear yourself think?"

"Gladly," says Dorian, and downs the rest of his drink.

Bull leaves his own mug behind on the table, hoping Dorian won't notice he's barely touched it. It's delicious, and he appreciates the sentiment, but he's far too distracted to enjoy it properly. Krem catches Bull's eye as he stands up and raises his eyebrows in an expression that always means, _You okay over there, boss? _Bull nods in reply. Krem dashes off a mock salute and goes back to debating Dalish about the pros and cons of Orlesian brothels versus Fereldan ones, or some such inane shit.

Outside, Skyhold's courtyard is dark and mostly deserted. Anyone with sense has been in bed for a while now. The singing and carousing inside the Herald's Rest still carries out through the open windows, so Dorian leads Bull around a corner, to a shadowy little alcove lit only by a single sputtering torch in a wall sconce. "Better?" asks Bull.

"Much," says Dorian, but he still can't meet Bull's gaze.

Bull feels his patience evaporating. "Look, Dorian. Either tell me what you dragged me out here to tell me or - "

He doesn't get to finish the second half of his sentence. Dorian stands on tiptoe, grabs the collar of Bull's vest, and pulls him down into a deep and decisive kiss. _Oh, _thinks Bull, _maybe I should have seen this coming. _They've been flirting for months now, testing and teasing each other while they follow Inquisitor Cadash around every insignificant corner of Thedas. But Bull had maybe taken it a little too far with that thing about conquering him, so he'd backed off, figuring Dorian wanted to keep things firmly in the realm of fantasy. Apparently, he figured wrong.

Bull would be lying if he said he didn't want this - hell, his dick is already getting hard inside his trousers - but something about the situation still doesn't sit right with him yet. When Dorian finally comes up for air, Bull straightens up before he can go in for a second kiss. "Hey," he says, as gently as he can manage. "I gotta ask. Why now?"

"It seemed like the proper moment," Dorian murmurs.

"Because you feel sorry for me? Pity's a turn-off. And I don't need anyone doing me any favors."

"No!" Dorian looks and sounds genuinely affronted. Then his face softens and he reaches out to run his hand slowly along Bull's biceps. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you. It took me this long to be brave enough to do something about it."

Bull's never heard Dorian be this earnest about anything, stripped of all the layers of sarcasm and artifice. He supposes he owes him the same honesty. "You mean, you decided to make your move now that I'm not following the Qun anymore."

"Maybe," Dorian admits. "But the way I prefer to see it, I chose to make my move when I finally realized what I'd be missing if I didn't. Seducing a handsome, muscular Tal-Vashoth who's open-minded and loyal to his friends? You're right. I _do _want to explore that."

Bull covers Dorian's hand with his own, holding him loosely in place. They both know Dorian could pull away any time he wants, but Bull likes that he doesn't. "You sure do talk pretty."

"I've been told my mouth is very talented, yes."

A low growl springs from Bull's throat. He lunges forward, wraps his free arm around Dorian's waist, and lifts him off the ground and into another kiss. This one is rougher, full of tongues and teeth, and when Dorian moans into his mouth it's the most gratifying sound he's heard in a long time. There's a wooden pole next to them holding up the tavern's straw awning, and Bull turns to press Dorian's back up against it. He splits Dorian's legs with one thigh and leans into the growing bulge at his crotch. Judging by how Dorian's eyes have widened, he can feel Bull's still-stiffening cock against him too. Bull breaks away and asks, "You like that?"

Dorian licks his lips. "Very much."

"Good," says Bull, moving against him just a little.

Dorian's breath hitches in his throat. "Are we going to rut against each other like adolescents in a closet during a Minrathous dinner party, or are you going to ask me back to your room?"

As fun as the first option sounds, Bull has to admit that most of the things he wants to do to Dorian tonight probably shouldn't happen in the middle of the courtyard. "Want to come up to my room?" he asks, and he isn't sure he even gets to the end of the sentence before Dorian responds enthusiastically, "Yes."

* * *

Even after the Venatori are all dead and the chains and manacles are gone, Bull can tell Dorian doesn't feel entirely safe until they're alone together in Bull's tent with the Chargers keeping a respectful distance. Dorian rests on a pile of furs with a bowl of warm soup in front of him and Stitches's bandages and poultices covering up the various injuries he suffered during his captivity. He squeezes Bull's hand and says, "Thank you for always coming after me."

"You should know by now I always will," Bull says gruffly. He'll never understand why Dorian still needs to say things out loud when they're already obvious.

"About that," Dorian says. He sounds nervous, which is weird. Now that the Chargers have rescued him from the Venatori who wanted to kill him, Bull can't imagine what's left to be nervous about. _Somehow Dorian still managed it, _he thinks with amusement as Dorian gropes around inside all the weird pouches and pockets adorning his still-totally-impractical armor. Finally he seems to find the one he wants and pulls something out of it. "Oh, good. I was afraid the Venatori might have taken this when they shook me down for all my potions."

"They would have had to find it in there first," Bull says with a chuckle. "What is it, anyway?"

Dorian looks almost sheepish as he opens his fist. Bull sucks in a sharp, startled breath when he sees the two necklaces, each adorned with half of a broken dragon's tooth, laid in Dorian's palm. "I know we can't always be together physically, and I know that might not ever change," Dorian says softly. "But being apart from you has only taught me that there's no one I would rather be with than you. Whatever the future may hold for us all, I want to spend it with you. Do you feel the same?"

_It's funny, _Bull thinks, _how much of my life before this I spent trying to make up my mind. _As difficult as it sometimes was, all his struggle and uncertainty brought him to the Chargers, and the Inquisition, and finally to this moment. No decision has ever been easier than this one. And nothing in his life has ever felt better than to grin and say without hesitation, "Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the title from ["Come In, Come In" by Garlic Bread & Roses.](https://garlicbreadandroses.bandcamp.com/track/come-in-come-in) Hope you enjoy this fic. :)


End file.
